William
by Becominglight
Summary: Scully has just given up her child so that he might grow up unafraid.  The desolate feeling it leaves yawns deep and wide and Mulder is not there … and so she finds herself at Monica's doorstep…


Title: William  
>Author: Becominglight<br>Rating: NC-17  
>Category: Comfort, Angst<br>Genre: Fem slash  
>Pairing: ScullyReyes, Scully/Mulder

Summary: Scully has just given up her child so that he might grow up unafraid. The desolate feeling it leaves yawns deep and wide and Mulder is not there … and so she finds herself at Monica's doorstep…

Spoilers: Season 9 and hints at things from throughout the series.

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. Please don't sue…

Author's Notes: This story is woven in and around the cannon of season 9… my way of getting Scully and Reyes together within that context! Enjoy!

The last moments of dusk clung heavily to the trees in the back yard. Colour was seeping out by degrees as a blue tinged grey ate away at the world. It was that time of day that is fleeting in its sudden passage, but holds the potential of infinity within. Usually Scully relished this moment. It reminded her of childhood, innocence and enthusiasm. It reminded her of home time after an afternoon of hut building, tree climbing, mud-pie making Hair wild and wind swept, cheeks glowing, eyes bright. It was the feeling of completeness when you knew you belonged because your mother was making dinner for you in some cosy kitchen.

Scully now sat at the window of her mother's spare room. Her small overnight bag lay at the foot of the double bed, practiced economy from years of travel. The lights were still off, shrouding her in shadow and though the smell of dinner wafted up from the kitchen bellow, she felt anything but complete.

It had been 38 hours. 2 280 minutes. 136 800 seconds. An eternity.

She sat very still on the wood carved chair. It had been in the family when she was little, now worn from the years. Below, she could hear the clinking of plates and cutlery as her Mother called out to her.

"Dana, dinner is ready!"

The tired chair creaked as she rose to her feet. It protested where Scully couldn't. She felt as worn as it looked.

She went downstairs.

In the dining room, the table was set for two and Scully felt relieved.

"Thanks, Mum."

"You're welcome."

"Ben didn't stay for dinner?"

"No. I told him I need some time alone with my daughter."

Ben was the man in Margaret Scully's life and he usually stayed for dinner.

They sat quietly and ate. Scully's eyes stung from fatigue. She felt the dangerous desire to let go and become a boneless grieving mass but knew that she wouldn't. She never had. She became aware of her mother's furtive glances. She'd explained it to her. Margaret had said she understood. Sort of. Yes, yes, she understood that for whatever reasons, which Scully hadn't gone into detail about, William was a special child. A wanted child. A child that attracted dangerous people and dangerous situations. She'd witnessed it at the hands of an attacker that had given her a thin white scar at her forhead and stained her grand-son's nursery carpet with blood. She'd seen William's mobile trace lazy circles while his soft pudgy limbs waved innocently above him. She'd seen the worry in her daughters eyes. But she strained to understand why. There was a web of complexity that shrouded the whole situation that had been woven from the moment her daughter had joined the X-Files division. She'd been fed oblique clues and half finished explanations about the truths Scully and Mulder had sacrificed themselves for and sometimes she wondered if her daughter had not been driven a little mad by her work. She didn't know what to believe. Margaret just felt frustrated and useless, unable to save her child from it. All she could do, she thought angrily, was make her dinner.

Scully was making a concerted effort to eat, though it was the last thing she wanted to do. Her mother's eyes were burning into her, making her feel increasingly uncomfortable.

"You think I made a mistake. Giving him up."

" I don't understand why these people are after him."

"I've told you what I can, Mum. I don't even understand it all and it's not from lack of searching. What could I do?"

"I don't know, Dana."

Scully did not reply. She desperately wanted to believe she'd done the best thing to protect him. The only thing. How could she live with herself otherwise? Her reasoning had been sound. She couldn't protect him. She had briefly contemplated going into hiding but she'd immediately realised it was an unwise choice. Aside from being vulnerable outside of the FBI's protection, the chip in her neck could be tracked and she did not doubt that they would find her. She knew this. Knew it was logical, but she felt the tendrils of doubt none the less. She couldn't help but feel that if Mulder had been there, he would have found a way.

She desperately wanted to see him. To have his comforting embrace, his strength. She wanted to loose herself in him and forget the pain she carried in her heart like a crucifixion but with a sudden pang, she realised she didn't know if she could face him, knowing what she had given up.

Scully did the dishes. She wiped the table. She went upstairs and picked up her bag, slipped on her coat and went downstairs. Her Mother was sitting in the living room watching the news.

"I'm going home, Mum."

Margaret looked up in surprise.

"I thought you wanted to stay the weekend. I just made us our special hot chocolate drink."

"I need to get some things done."

Margaret's eyes appraised her. A pale pinched face regarded her steadily, seemingly calm and tight but churning oceans were contained behind those walled off features. Scully was retreating. She was so much like her father, stoic and brave, brilliant. She admired her daughter just as she had admired her husband but it made them so distant and impenetrable, especially when they needed her the most. How could she reach her?

"I would like it if you stayed, Dana."

"I'll call you." Scully pursed her lips and left.

Two small white hands clutched the steering wheel. She had meant to stay the weekend. And yet she'd felt stifled. Her mother loved her, wanted to sooth her, take away her pain, but she was too close to William. Scully didn't want to feel the uncomprehending gaze of her mother following her across the room, she had enough to deal with.

The lights of the city drowned the emerging stars in an inky black sky. They caressed Scully's knuckles in endless repetition, a silent mantra of light and dark. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a teething ring, discarded months ago by William, that she had never gotten around to removing from her car. He hadn't needed it, so she hadn't packed it for him. She reached for it now, half hidden on the driver's seat under her teaching notes from last week and an empty sandwich wrapper, one of many meals consumed in haste. She fingered it as she drove one handed, rubbing her thumb along the smooth rubbery surface. She thought of all the toys he'd left behind, the brightly coloured wooden blocks that lay abandoned in his toy chest, the red fire truck John had gotten him. They were now useless and unwanted. No child lived in her small apartment anymore.

She couldn't go home. Not yet. And she didn't want to go back to Mum's.

She hesitated at the door. It was Saturday night and there was no guarantee that Monica would be home. She'd left her bag in the trunk. It would feel too presumptuous to turn up with a bag in hand. But even if she could stay just a few hours, a few hours before she faced her apartment, alone.

She knocked softly, self-consciously and waited. She heard a movement inside the apartment and suddenly wondered if coming had been a wise idea, maybe she could leave before the door opened. But too late, Monica stood there, tall and slim in the doorway.

"Scully!" She said in surprise. "Please come in."

Scully stepped inside and removed her coat.

"I'm sorry to come unannounced, Monica. I hope this isn't a bad time..."

"Not at all. Can I get you something to drink? I was about to have a wine."

"Uh, yes, thank-you, a glass of wine would be lovely."

Monica disappeared into the kitchen. Scully edged awkwardly towards the couch and finally decided to sit. She wasn't used to doing this sort of thing – reaching out. Monica returned two classes and a bottle of red wine in hand.

"I was just watching the news. Depressing, I don't know why I put myself through that every day. I get enough of it on the job."

"Mmmmm."

Scully looked as images of a tapped off area with police running around and medics wheeling out two bodies from a non-descript suburban house flashed on the screen. Monica frowned a little and turned the TV off handing a glass to Scully then sat down on the couch, settling into the corner.

"Cheers."

"Cheers."

She sipped her glass and contemplated Scully from the rim.

"So how are you doing, Dana?"

The weight of the words left no doubt as to what she was asking and the directness of the question was perhaps not surprising coming form her, but Scully felt the word pierce her all the same.

"I'm fine." The familiar words slipped out of her mouth thoughtlessly, an automatic response primed for any intrusion. She hadn't mean to say it. Monica just observed her and swirled her wine. Scully tried again. "Acutally, I'm not so good."

"That's understandable, Dana."

Scully gave a half smile.

"Did your mother go with you?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Thank-you for offering, by the way, to come with me. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

Scully regarded her glass a moment. "I just come from my mother's actually."

"Did you stay with her last night?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm glad."

"I was going to stay tonight too, but I couldn't."

"You couldn't?"

Scully leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "She doesn't understand why I gave him up. I couldn't stand to have her looking at me with that question in her eyes."

Monica leaned forward and placed a hand on her arm. She squeezed gently and looked at her in compassion. "I'm glad you came here, Dana."

Scully felt her eyes prick with tears and she looked to the coffee table to hold herself in check. The table was strewn with X-File case notes. It seemed that on a Saturday night, Monica Reyes was doing what Scully had so often done herself. She was working on a case. It made her smile at the irony.

"Be careful, Monica. This job will consume you. It'll grab hold of you and never let you go."

Monica glanced to the coffee table. "Someone has to search for the Truth."

"That's what Mulder is doing. And through him, me. You don't have to sacrifice yourself to the cause too. Or John. Or Skinner."

"Mulder is out of the Bureau and you're teaching at Quantico. Someone has to man the X-Files."

"What if there is no Truth to be found? What if there are only lies and deception?"

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

Scully didn't answer. She contemplated her glass.

"You surely would not question the existence of an ultimate Truth, would you? As a Catholic?"

"No," Scully conceded " I don't question the ultimate Truth, or God. I'm being facetious. But I do question the X-File's ability to illuminate the more secular truths out there." Scully looked at her a moment. "Do you believe in God, Monica?"

The question seemed to amuse her. "Yes. I've told you before. I'm spiritual. I feel things, vibrations. And I Know within myself that this comes from something bigger than us. Call it God, the Goddess, the Supreme Being, the Lord or the Universe."

"And what vibrations do you feel now?"

"Yours. You're scared and uncertain about your choice. I'm here to tell you, that you made the best choice you could." Monica's warm audacious hand had migrated to her back, moving in slow circular motions. Scully allowed the invasion. She hadn't been touched in so long.

"You didn't seem so sure last week."

"I trust your judgement, Dana. Only you can feel what is the right thing to do. Not me."

Scully nodded lightly.

"It's okay to need support, you know. You don't have to keep it inside, Dana."

Scully teetered on the edge. The veneer of control on her emotions had been severely compromised over the last two years. She used to think she was so strong, so in control but she had come to realise it was an illusion she'd held, like many others.

"Did I?" She said. "Did I make the right choice?" her voice caught on sharp shards of doubt.

"You made the only choice you felt you could. What other choice did you have? Like you said. You gave him the chance to never be afraid."

Scully frowned to hold them back, to calm herself but the tears spilled down her cheeks anyway. She was hot with shame at this weakness, she should not cry. She had made a decision and she thought she had reconciled with it. But fear bubbled inside her like a sulphurous hot pool. She wiped the tears away with her hand and looked to Monica, who was looking at her, her forehead creased in concern. It was too intense, too honest, and Scully dropped her eyes to the carpet.

"What if Mulder can't forgive me?" She whispered.

Monica's eye teared up in sympathy. She placed her glass on the table and inched closer to surround Scully's small shoulders with her arm. She did it so casually, silently violating the established parameters of their relationship.

"I think Mulder, out of everyone, will understand the most. He will only want what is best for William too."

Scully nodded, tears making rivulets down her face and dripping on her lap. Monica handed the tissue box from the coffee table to Scully, whose shoulder's have begun to shake with sobs. Her hands were raised to her face, hiding the shame of grief. Monica pulled her to her chest, smoothing her hair.

"It's okay" She murmured, "Let it out. Let it all out."

Scully soaked Monica's top, waves of tears oozing from her depths and between her fingers. She was crying for everything that has happened to her. For her father's death, her abduction and the loss of her ovaries. Her sister's death, her cancer, her daughter's life, her daughter's death, Mulder's parent's death. His brain disease, their love, his abduction, his death. His going into hiding, the fears about William, his adoption. 9 years of compounded fear, pain, grief surfaced like a turgid cesspool overflowing. How could any of this ever heal?

The sobs slowly abated, leaving a tight hard feeling in her chest. She blew her nose into a sodden tissue.

"I can't breath" she managed.

Monica lifted her face up , cupping it in her soothing hand. She took a clean tissue and slowly wiped the tear tracks away, catching salty tear drops hanging from her chin. Scully felt oddly comforted by the intimate gesture. She felt spent, as though those tears had taken more than water and salt from her body. She didn't know if she's ever cried like that in her life. She watched Monica handle her with such warmth and love and though reverently that despite the terrible path she's been down, God had somehow always surrounded her with angels. She could almost see the halo of light shining around Monica's head through her watery eyes and imagined feeling the warmth of it as Monica gently kissed her cheek. The tightness in the chest was abating and she could breath easier, leaving a hungry emptiness.

She returned the kiss, her lips lingering a moment on Monica's cheek. She pulled back and looked into her brown eyes. So much like Mulder's. They were close enough to feel each other's body heat and a need bloomed urgently within.

Monica's breath had become shallow. Scully was staring at her with an openness that made her eyes a transparent topaz, the depth of them like a physical pull. Who closed the distance? It didn't seem to matter as their mouths joined. Soft, pliant, salty, they melded together. Scully arched her back, their breast touching, sending a hum of electricity through Monica's body. She could feel Scully's cold hands sliding under her top, caressing the smoothness of her stomach and she broke the kiss.

"Scully?" She breathed.

Scully pressed in, forcing Monica down on the couch. Monica was not sure she should let her continue, but the thought dissolved as Scully's insistent lips captured hers.

Her hands were invading her top again, the soft pads of her fingertips gliding ever higher in urgent semi-circles until they reach the wire of her bra. Scully pushed them up exposing nipples pink and puckered. Monica gasped as Scully's hot mouth encircles the nub, teasing, making agonising circles with her tongue. An ache between her legs bloomed. She was so taken aback by the suddenness of it that all she could do was respond.

Pulling Monica's top off, dropping it with the bra the ground, Scully was biting her way up her neck, suckling with growing intensity. Her hands snaked into the waistband of Monica's jeans, kneading her goose-flesh bottom and pressing Monica's centre firmly against her leg. She sharply nipped the delicate flesh at the neck, making Monica yelp. Monica pushed Scully back, noting the unfocused tear washed arousal of Scully's eyes, her panting breath, the feel of her iron fingers pressing into her skin. Scully wanted to consume her.

"Shhhhh" She said.

Scully looked down at her, her body tensing with rejection. Monica held her gaze, letting her know it was okay, briefly cupping her hand against Scully's cheek. She can see fear and need. Need for a simple human touch. She looked at Scully a moment, at the soft auburn meshes of hair falling down, framing that pale white face, at the quiver of the lip. Scully had reached out. To her. Scully needed her. So she kisses her and slowly undressed her. Monica drank in the porcelain white flesh, her hands skimming the flatness of Scully's stomach, cupping her breasts. Her hands snaked around Scully's back and she pulled her in for an embrace and could feel her whole body vibrating as though every cell had been tweaked into awareness. She felt her head chakra, wide open, and a warm pressure enveloped her head as divine energy poured in. Her hands were pulsating with the power of it and with every touch, every caress she left fairy dust on Scully's skin.

She rolled her over, till she was nestled below. She has this overwhelming sense of knowing that she was here to give Scully this moment. She kissed her deeply, cradling her face in her hands. She moved down the neck, down her body, each butterfly kiss an affirmation of love tumbling from her lips. The moment transformed with spiritual intensity until the very air around them hummed in harmony.

Moncia's hands were at the fly of Scully's trousers. She gently undid them, pulling them off with her underwear, shoes and socks. She observed Scully lying passively there, her aggressive ardour now gone. One hand rested against her forehead, the gripping Monica's arm as if to assure herself she would't leave. She was beautiful like the Madonna, observed Monica with a heady mix of desire and vulnerability. Her pink tongue delicately traced the swollen length of her lower lip. Monica felt an ethereal love course through her.

Monica removed her own jeans. She wanted to feel the length of their bodies pressed together. As she moved over Scully again the air swirling between her legs, against her wetness. Her hands traced along Scully's thighs, curving to the soft inside, brushing the edge of her centre. Scully whimpered and her pelvis jerked up. She let her hand cup her, observing the tremor move through her. Her finger strayed between the folds gently scraping up the hot wetness to the quivering clitoris and she began to rub it tenderly.

Scully flushed a delicate pink. Soft moans, sighs and gasps issuing forth. Monica was mesmerised. She dipped one finger, two fingers, then three in, slowly penetrating then sliding back and forth. She dipped her head to Scully's breasts licking, rolling, sucking as the intensity picked up. She placed herself either side of Scully's bent leg, never breaking her rhythm and lowered herself , wet and hot against it. The pressure was intoxicating, igniting them both like fire in a furnace. Scully licked the salty sweat in the hollow of Monica's neck, biting the delicate skin until it bruised. Their bodies were melting together, golden light pouring from Monica to Scully until they both glowed with the heat of their passion. Monica watched, inches away, as Scully bucked and orgasmed, her arms tightening around her until she fell back against the couch. Monica rocked against Scully's leg and felt herself swept up as she came, her breasts swaying.

Lying on top of Scully, she buried her face in her neck. Her heart was thudding loudly in her chest and she could feel the corresponding beat of Scully's heart against her nipple. Sweat began to chill as they lay naked and Monica reached for blanket on the back of the couch to cover them. She was overwhelmed. Unexpected, profound, terrifyingly beautiful, her mind floated somewhere between reality and dream wondering what would happen tomorrow. Scully was already slipping into sleep, her faced relaxed, her body soft, her breathing slowing with each inhalation. She traced lazy circles at the base of Monica's spin with post-coital languor. Monica savoured the sensation before she rolled them on their sides and fell asleep, cocooning herself against Scully's back.

The first sensation was of peace. Scully woke up with an intake of breath and slowly opened her eyes to the warm light slanting through the living room. She lay a moment gathering herself, curiously probing this unfamiliar feeling. She hadn't felt it in so long. Perfect peace. She felt a stirring behind her and frowned, focusing her sleepy mind and then she remembered.

Monica yawned and stretched, rubbing herself against Scully's back. She kissed her behind the ear.

"Morning" she croaked and slid out from the blanket. Scully tensed. "Can I get you a coffee?"

Scully half sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest, painfully aware of Monica's unself-conscious state of undress. She stood there like a mythical Amazon, backlit by sunlight.

"Uh… no. I should get going, I didn't mean to stay the night" She reached for the puddle of clothes on the floor.

Monica frowned. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine."

She crouched down to connect with Scully.

"You don't have to be embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed."

"We didn't do anything wrong."

Scully just wanted Monica to get dressed.

"Do you mind giving me a bit of privacy? I'd like to put my clothes on."

Monica withdrew, an expression of sadness lacing her eyes. She headed towards her bedroom, leaving Scully alone in the living room.

Three days later, it was 4.45pm and Scully was avoiding her. Clearly. She understood why but the fact still hurt.

John was talking but Monica had stopped listening.

"Monica?"

She raised her head to meet his gaze.

"Are you listening to what I'm saying, Monica?"

"I'm sorry, I'm distracted."

"I'll say you are. You've acting strange all week. Anything the matter?"

"I just have a few things on my mind."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No." She grabed her jacket off the back of her chair and slipped it on. "Look, I have something I have to do. I'll see you tomorrow."

She waited outside the apartment for three hours before she came home. The night had almost choked out the last of the light when she saw the familiar figure enter the building, lugging a box of folders with her. Knocking at the door, she waited impatiently for Scully to answer.

"You're avoiding me." She said as she strode in, taking off her jacket to imply she would not be gotten rid of easily. "We need to talk."

Scully looked almost hostile.

"What is there to talk about?"

"You avoiding me."

" I'm not avoiding you. I've been at work."

" I know that. But you are avoiding me."

"I've frequently gone days without talking to you, Agent Reyes."

"This isn't like normal, Dana. We need to acknowledge what happened."

"Ok. Fine. What do you want to say?"

Monica exhaled, gesturing Scully towards the sofa. She sat down, a respectful way away. Scully had her arms crossed in her typically defensive posture, pressed against the arm of her sofa to maximize the distance between them.

"I don't want what happened to come between our friendship. I feel like what happened was beautiful and profound and I won't apologise for it. I feel you wanted it as much as I did and I don't want you running away from it or from me." Monica was speaking carefully. "I though you had understood. And I want you to know that I don't have any sort of expectations of it happening again. It was what it was."

Scully was sitting very still. "Yes it was." she said evenly.

Monica was searching for something in her eyes that would tell her that they were ok.

"Do you feel I took advantage of you?"

"No. If anything I took advantage of you" she says tightly

"You didn't. I was willing."

The words seemed to confuse Scully for a moment. "Good. Well then…"She seemed to think the conversation was over.

"Dana, I can see you're not ok with this." She felt the desire to reach out to her with hand, but knew it would not be welcome. "Is it because I'm a woman?"

"No."

"It's because of Mulder, right?" She said softly. Scully looked at her piercing and cold but the silence was answer enough. Monica shifted marginally and held her gaze. "Dana, you've been alone practically from the moment you found out you were pregnant. The whole time you were searching for Mulder, you were also afraid of what grew inside of you. And then he was born amongst the terror that he would be taken away, only to have Mulder taken from you again instead. And I've watched this all unfold, admiring your ability to take whatever has been thrown at you, again and again, wanting to be able to support you, but you've kept me at arms length, just like you've kept John and Skinner and even your Mum. You won't let any of us in." Scully looked away. " But on Saturday, when you showed up, Dana, you let me in. If only for the briefest moment, you let me in and I gave you what I could. I gave with a pure heart and I don't want it to be sullied with regret or shame or any other negative emotion."

Scully was clearly uncomfortable with Monica's words." The way I see it, Dana, you did not betray Mulder. The way I see it, you needed support, you needed release and because, through circumstances, he could not be here, you came to me. And I don't regret that you did." Monica finished emphatically, hoping that her words would find their target. But Scully sat there without speaking, stony in her silence.

"Speak to me, Dana."

Without raising her head, Scully said, "I would like you to leave, Monica."

Monica looked at her for a moment, hoping she might say something more. But she didn't. Rising to her feet and donning her jacket, she looked back at Scully. "You are my friend, Dana. I hope I am still yours."

She left, feeling no less conflicted than before but at least she had said her piece. She hoped Scully had really heard her.

They did not see each other again until Scully called John into her office at Quantico two weeks later. He'd had asked for Scully to autopsy a body and she had used it as a subject in one of her classes, confident with her preliminary findings. A ponderous, sharp as a tack student, with pouting lips and precise, thoughtful words had blown her over with his insight and she'd rung John. She'd hoped that Monica would somehow not be there, but the thought was clearly wishful.

Monica strode in the door, John following, as Scully was finishing her phone call to the crime lab. The student's insight had been more than that – it had been one hundred percent accurate. She allowed the momentum of her discovery to hide the confusion of being faced with the woman she no longer knew how to categorise. She allowed herself one quick glance and Monica seemed serious, firm, focused, professional. Scully captured this in a second and rose to meet the unspoken challenge. She could do the same. She leaned on John's reassuring presence, revealing that the stab wounds on one victim matched those of what was previously considered as an unrelated murder.

Once they were gone, Scully allowed herself a moment to reflect. She could feel Monica's hurt and anger. Scully was better at hiding, the legacy from working with Mulder, whereas Monica's emotions came and went across her face like the flowing stream.

Two days respite and the case had evolved further than anyone had anticipated. It was no longer any investigation, it was the investigation to find the killer of John's son. Called upon to help, Scully's empathy for John overrode any potential discomfort at seeing Monica. She went to the downtown DC police station wielding disappointing news and worried at his state of mind. His leap of reasoning was unfounded and stirring a wound of that proportion would only make it fester. His phone calls had been tense and tightly wound.

Upon entering the station, she met John's ex-wife, Barbara, a lovely woman whose traumas were etched into her face just like John's. Scully knew what it was to loose a son, but she did not know what it was to loose a son to death. Barbara spoke to her with her sad eyes, commenting that John could never suffer or do enough to atone for the guilt of his son's death.

Glancing through the glass door that revealed him pointing with agitation at a police officer, Monica standing in a sympathetic vigil beside him, Amanda said "He and Monica could have something together. He just won't let her in".

The final words pierced something within Scully. She flashed to Monica's intense face, the furrow between her eyebrows that creased when she is trying to make a point.

"_You won't let any of us in_."

And that was true. Only Mulder held that sacred place in her universe, just as she did for him and even he had had been held at bay for an interminable time. Access to deepest parts of herself were not granted on a barley a year of friendship. And what frightened her was the depth at which she'd been moved by her experience. It had touched the core of her being in a way only Mulder had ever dared to do, elevating her to a place where constraints of her life had been shattered in a brief moment of exaltation. How could this not be betrayal? She'd already given away their child and this felt like cruel appendix to this chapter of her life's story.

Later that night she prayed. She prayed a lot these days – not just at church or before bed. She prayed on her way to work, as she worked at her desk, as she walked the hallways of Quantico, as she moved around her empty apartment. It was the pacifier to her troubles that helped her face another day of oblique certainties. It helped fill the yawing silence that follwed her. Her prayers were often mindless, a verse of scripture or a sentence from a psalm plucked from the folders of her memories. But tonight it was a more direct connection she sought, it demanded clasped hands and that she kneel, her slipper covered feet pocking childishly from beneath her voluminous bathrobe.

She poured out her heavy heart. Her lonliness, her anger, her questions. The prayer was fierce, a deluge of thoughts and ideas forming in the silence of the room, and she found herself crying, which surprised her, she hadn't noticed. She was angry. Angry at Mulder for going away. Angry at God for taking him away, taking William away. Angry at Monica for not being Mulder. She riled at a world that would rob her of children only to bless her with a miracle that ultimately would only be taken away too. She realised it was all displaced, the neither the world, God, Mulder or Monica were to blame but she had to feel something. A vacume will always be filled, it is a physical certainty and the vaccume inside her was no different.

She kneeled there as her joints stiffened and her back ached, her arms wearying from leaning against the chair in her son's room. But she continued her praying until though ceased entirely and she floated in a sea of timelessness. She felt serene. It reminded her of the prayer for Mulder when Albert Hostein came to her in a vision and of the prayer at the Buddhist temple when she'd surpassed the limits of the moment.

In that state she had a moment of sagacity and she forgave herself.

She wanted to talk to Monica but John's case took a turn and she found herself interviewing her student as a suspect for his son's murderer. Monica had been distraught and it had been the wrong time to approach her. Scully hung back.

His son's murderer was dead and John was grieving. Monica stood by him with the same strength and love she'd offered to Scully. And he took it without question.

Scully had found the courage to call Monica and ask her over to talk. Monica had soberly arrived at her apartment door and now sat on the couch, Scully juxtaposed at the other end.

"I wanted to apologise, Monica. For my behaviour towards you. It was unfair to you."

Monica nodded slightly.

"You were right. It was because of Mulder. And I was afraid. I was afraid of what we'd done and what it meant to you and to me and what the consequences would be. So I ran. And even when you came and explained, I continued to run because I couldn't believe or even comprehend what you were saying." The words were hard to articulate, not from lack of clarity, but from the unfamiliarity of expressing herself so explicitly. Only her priest heard her like this, in confession. The words came out measured and forthright. "But I think I understand now. And I want to thank you, Monica. For being my friend and for loving me."

Scully stopped and looked at Monica. "I hope we can still be friends."

Monica's eyes shone with a light that spread out across the space between them. She leaned forward on the couch, her hand reaching out for Scully's, briefly squeezing it and letting it go.

"Yes, Dana, we can still be friends."

Scully saw that Monica was a greater person than she.

The boundaries of their new friendship never got the chance to be tested. Shortly afterwards Mulder returned and both he and Scully were fugitives from the law. Chased by helicopters with deathly intent, Monica caught a last glance of Scully's copper hair as she and Mulder sped away with billowing dust marking their passage. She was sorry to see her go. She'd felt a desire to help this woman and in a spiritual mood she contemplated the possibility of this connection stemming from a past life. She'd helped her find Mulder, delivered her baby, changed her bed sheets and soothed her when William was gone. She hoped that they would find a way to be safe and outside the reach of the military. She hoped that Scully would find something resembling a normal life. She hoped that she and Mulder could stay together this time. And she hoped it wasn't the last she'd see of Dana Scully.


End file.
